Disclaimers, etc, see part one.

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Sirius was staring at the fire again. He looked better than he had five days ago, when he had first arrived with Buckbeak on Remus's doorstep. He had put on a bit of weight, and a bit of colour. He had w ashed, and shaved, and cut his hair, and he was wearing clean clothes. But he seemed always as if he were just on the verge of getting up and walking out the door, he had yet to utter a syllable, and he was staring at the fire again.

Remus was const antly surprised by how much and how little Sirius had changed. Although he was getting used to the surprises coming, there was still so much he had to discover, or rediscover.

The first was that he and Sirius were of a height. The embrace in the sha ck had told him only that Sirius was far too thin. Remus had been preparing to let down a pair of his robes for Sirius, while Sirius had washed that first night, only to discover that there was no need, not ever for an inch. In all his memories, Sirius to wered over him. And then it really struck him; Remus had been wearing the same size robes for ten years, only ten years, Sirius had been wearing the same set for twelve.

Sirius still smiled with the same vague sense of amusement in his pleasure. And Remus had seen it often; when he first opened the door and invited Sirius in; when he had turned on the bath tap; when he had given Sirius honey with his tea. But it hadn't reached his eyes. Nothing had reached Sirius's eyes.

And Remus couldn't make out Sirius's expression now, in the flickering light. It wasn't inscrutable, merely unfamiliar. Too pensive and considered for the Sirius Remus knew… had known. Remus kept looking over the top of his book to check tha t Sirius was still there. He was worried that Sirius would just leave again as simply as he had arrived unless he said something; but he was equally worried that saying anything would scare Sirius away.

"Why am I still here?" Sirius aske d.

Remus caught his book before it actually hit the ground, but a couple of pages ended up bent.

"Where should you be instead?" Remus asked, disconcerted by the question.

"Anywhere else," Sirius said. His voice ha d recovered only a little, and he was quiet. "You did your duty letting me wash and change. You fed me. You could kick me out. You should kick me out."

"And who wouldn't I talk to then?" Remus asked, amused.

Sirius wasn't.

"It's still novel having you here," Remus said. "You never spent a night at my place before," he added.

A spasm of pain crossed Sirius's face, and it seemed for a moment that he was going to push whatever the thought was, away; or leave. But he obviously gave up because he relaxed, and after a moment said:

"I didn't know what you were talking about, that night."

And Remus knew exactly what he was talking about no w.

"I said something stupid, offhand," Sirius said, struggling to remember the right memories. "I was distracted, thinking things I didn't want to think and having conversations I didn't want to think about. I can't recall what I said, now."

The words were forever burned into Remus's mind, but he didn't think it would be polite to say so.

"I remember your face, though," Sirius continued. "I knew I had said the wrong thing because you looked so far away. It was like I killed something, although I had no idea what. There was something in you I suddenly didn't recognise. Then, years later, I worked it out. It was half moon, the quiet time, like that night. For a moment the world was a real place again, outside the walls, not some half remembered dream. And I was anywhere else but inside those walls, because you had loved me."

Remus had never heard the words out loud. He thought they sounded strange in Sirius's still-rough voice above the crackling fire.

"So they took it away," Sirius said. "And all I had was the knowledge that I had failed to see something else I should have recognised. That I had destroyed another preciou s thing."

"You didn't," Remus said, but too quietly to penetrate Sirius's thoughts.

"Why?" Sirius asked.

"Why what?"

"Why did you love me? I mean, I was selfish, and stupid, and reckless and mean, and completely unsophisticated and un-attuned to the subtleties of real communication, I think you said."

"You were Sirius."

"That's not an answer, Moony."

Remus chuckled. He sounded exactly like his old self. He seemed it too, with the quick tilt of the head and the hand gesture imperiously demanding more explanation.

"You're asking the wrong question," Remus said.

Sirius turned away from the fir e to look at Remus through carefully narrowed eyes.

"The real question is why couldn't I stop."

"What?"

"Still un-attuned, Mr Padfoot. You were a murderer and a traitor. You had lied to us all, probabl y since we had first known you. You killed you best friend, and Lily, and then Peter. You showed no remorse, or even understanding of the enormity of your betrayal. You were the worst scum of the earth, and proof that friendship and love are not thicker t han blood. I hated you from the very depths of my soul, Sirius. For thirteen years I had to, just to keep going. But I couldn't stop loving you."

Sirius turned back to the fire and stared again at the flames and again said nothing. Event ually Remus could bear the silence no longer. And because Sirius was still his brash and obtuse old self, said:

"I love you."

Sirius turned slowly, a careful rearrangement of his body, which Remus knew would be followed by a commen t Sirius thought amusing, but was probably inappropriate.

"Why?" he asked, with all the curious demand of a thirteen year old wanting to know why he shouldn't set off dung bombs in the Slytherin corridor.

Remus shook his head with a chuckle.

"I have no earthly idea."

Sirius laughed, amused by Remus and his own amusement. His eyes sparkled with it. And Remus remembered that Sirius had always seemed on the verge of leaving, but had never been able to go quietly.

"And I want you to stay," he said.

Sirius glanced around the room briefly before giving a decisive nod.

"Where else could I go, Mr Moony?"

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